"There's a thin line between a wild side and flatline."


Every time I walk that line, I get a little closer to falling over it. I don't know what I was thinking (correction: I do know what I was thinking, but that's the problem). Too much liquor. Four inch heels. Edge of the bridge.

Sure, I can keep my balance. And if not, I've never had any trouble floating before.

Oh well. A ripped up knee is better than a cold corpse, right?